


All is Fair in Love and War

by Myrime



Series: your name like a prayer [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Job, Dreaming, F/M, Fade, Fade Sex, Lavellan on top, Leaving, Love, Post-Trespasser, for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 09:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10761132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: The rustle of clothes tells her Solas is circling her, much like a wolf would his prey and with as much patience, but she is adamant to not give in to his game, tired of allowing him to be in control. For once, she knows as her legs move of their own volition, he will not win.(Sex, with a tiny bit of plot thrown in. I have no regrets. You're welcome.)





	All is Fair in Love and War

The moment she feels his presence in the Fade, Ellana closes her eyes. It is him, she knows without a doubt, not a figment of her imagination, because she does not dream of him anymore.

Her magic pools in her hand, crackling and ready to be thrown, one wrong move away from snapping. But she inhales deeply and reins it in. This war will not be won by losing her temper. And she is still set on winning. More than ever, really, since the disaster of their negotiations. Tevinter has not yet fallen, but the world is breaking apart at its seams. She does not want to be helpless anymore.

Somewhere in her back, Solas moves, but she keeps her eyes closed and concentrates on her breathing. The most sensible reaction would be to wake up or evict him from her dream, but she doubts she could do either thing if he really wants to keep her here. He _does_ command the Fade like no other.

The rustle of clothes tells her he is circling her, much like a wolf would his prey and with as much patience, but she is adamant to not give in to his game. Right when she is about to tell him to leave, he steps closer, a warm presence in her back. They are not quite touching but, in a way, this is more intimate than kisses would be, or declarations of love. Although those had all been lies anyway.

“Vhenan,” he mutters against her neck. The words are cold against her skin, when once they would have been a caress.

Ellana is torn between wanting to laugh and the urge to simply tear him apart.

She is _angry_. At both of them. At herself maybe even more, because she should have seen what he is, should have realized he was playing her, moulding her into someone who would be too conflicted to fight effectively in this war of theirs.

He had once complimented her on her focus, years ago, eons from where they are now. _I have yet to see it dominated._ What a farce. He has been dominating her all along, this accomplished liar, the Trickster God himself. And she let him.

But, she decides with sudden clarity, not anymore. She is done being a puppet in his games.

“Don’t call me that,” Ellana says firmly. It is not a plea, really, and he notices that, for his breath catches, if only for the shortest fragment of a moment. He knows enough about self-control to not let his surprise show. But she, too, has learned to read him over the years. Never enough, it seemed, to avoid the inevitable heartbreak, but they could hardly fall any farther than this.

When she turns around, he is still close enough to touch, but the air around them seems solid and filled with a coldness that reminds her of winter nights at Skyhold. Only they will not keep each other warm anymore, but rather observe with detached curiosity who will be the first to freeze to death.

A smile comes unbidden to Ellana’s face, although it is not a happy thing. The glint appearing in Solas’ eyes, however, is.

“Why are you here?” she asks, then dismisses the question as she takes in his appearance.

He stands before her in full armour, nothing casual about his stance. The wolf’s pelt draped over his shoulder makes him seem even taller than he is, turning him truly into a creature of legend, wolf blood running through his veins. She hates it, this open acknowledgement of his status and past.

Making a snap decision, she takes it off, unbuckles the armour and lets it fall carelessly to the ground. It is easier than she expected. Then again, he had so easily shed his true skin to become an unassuming hedge mage when they had met for the first time.

A frown crosses over his forehead as he watches her step on his garb as she comes closer to him, fingers ghosting over the sides of his throat and under the neckline of his shirt. No sound passes over his lips and when she tugs at the soft linen, he does not move. But neither does he stop her when she uses magic to make short work of it.

Solas’ chest is bare then and she cannot help but admire his body, which she has once known so well. In truth, she still knows the body. Just her perception of the person beneath has changed. Reaching out, she barely stops herself from touching him, from needing to reassure herself that he is, indeed, there.

Instead, Ellana lowers herself to her knees before him, avoiding his eyes, which she feels bearing into her with fierce intensity. This is not a time for doubts, she tells herself as she opens his trousers, smiling as she hears his breath catch when cold air meets his skin. It might have been protest or encouragement, she does not know. But his cock, already half-erect, twitches in response to her closeness. And that is all the incentive she needs.

Her left hand is unblemished when she raises it and it makes her halt. It is wrong, for he only ever fell for her because she was, in effect, his creation. They never would have met, much less touched or _loved_ , had she not carried his mark. It takes only the briefest bout of attention to put the anchor back where it resided for so long, the haunting, pulsing green of her slow death. Only then does she allow herself to touch him, marvelling at the contrast between his skin and hers, and how his magic surges at the contact.

“Vhe-,” Solas starts, then stops himself abruptly. “Ellana.” Nothing else. He seems ready to flinch away from her, but stays rooted in place. Expectant, maybe, or unsure, sensing that she is ready to snap.

She is satisfied with that, with being on top of things for once, with making him listen. As much as she has always loved hearing him call her ‘vhenan’, her name on his lips is something else. This way it is so much easier to believe that he sees her as a person, after all, not only the means to an end, not a creature of _his_ making.

In response, she runs her fingers up his thigh, not yet touching his swelling shaft but close enough to tease.

A bed appears unbidden, pressing into Solas’ calves as if prompting him to sit. It startles Ellana, for she has not consciously conjured it. A glance at Solas tells her that he, too, has nothing to do with it. His eyes are half-lidded, hazy with something she can easily recognize as lust. But he is wary, too, uncertain as to what she is doing or why, and whether he should give into it.

His muscles are tense. Maybe he is battling the urge to run, as he has done so often before, always keeping his distance. Maybe it is simply from the effort to keep standing even while her full attention is on breaking his ever-collected state. He should know that she will not release him before she has succeeded in that.

Turnabout is fair, after all. Or, maybe, she just needs to make it clear to the both of them that she is not only a tool, that she has at least a bit of power left in this world.

Taking the decision from him, Ellana lays her glowing hand on his bare stomach and pushes him back, down into the cushions. Solas does not struggle, but once he sits, his posture remains reluctant, stiff. He reaches out for her but stops immediately when she tuts reproachfully.

A chuckle escapes her at the sight. It is painfully obvious that he is not used to giving up control. Well, she was not used to _being_ in control when the Breach happened, but he had taught her much since then, both when he was still with her and after he left, too. Most of all about how life seldom works out as planned.

Not giving either of them a break, Ellana pushes Solas’ thighs apart and immediately fills the space between them. Her hand finds its way to his cock, coaxing it until it is fully erect, feeling the rapid pulse beneath the hot skin. Then she strokes its full length, down until she cups his balls.

Her tongue darts out to moisturize her lips before she bows down her head and finally engulfs her prize with enthusiasm born from desperation and the simple fact of how much she had missed him, despite everything that has happened. Not that she would ever admit that out loud. Although she suspects she does not need to. The ease with which they still fit together says more than any words.

Ellana takes it deliberately slow as she cups only the head of his cock, sucking slightly. A strangled moan escapes Solas, causing her eyes to snap up. His face is flushed and fixed in an expression of resigned elation. He does not look like he wants to flee anymore.

Ellana’s lips tug into a smirk and she uses the movement to slide further down his length, never once taking her gaze off him. Solas’ thighs around her tense reflexively. Strangely enough, she still feels at home, surrounded by his warmth. The thought sends heat into her lower abdomen and she picks up her pace slightly, bracing herself against his upper leg.

Finally, Solas begins to relax into her touch, won over maybe by the efforts of her lips and tongue. It is a wonder, really, how she can tolerate this so easily, as if there are not so many angry, breathless words stitched into the seams of her flesh. She would hurl them at him, if only she thought he would listen. But she can press them into his skin, embed them into his pleasure until the two can never be separated again.

Concentrating fully on her movements, Ellana startles when she feels a hand on the back of her head. The touch is gentle, feather light and not attempting to guide her, no matter the impatience she can feel radiating off him. Still, she freezes, relaxing her mouth until he is merely an intruder between her lips.

The message is clear, _don’t touch me_ , and he gets it immediately. She feels it in the way his fingers twitch against her scalp, reluctant to move. But, several moments later, he complies, twirling her hair around his fingers the way she lets her tongue flutter in response. She then doubles her efforts, sucking hungrily, driven by the way his breath quickens and the need of her own body.

Digging her fingers into Solas’ thighs, she takes him in completely, causing his hips to jerk up erratically. Another moan escapes him, sending bolts directly to her core, where the heat pools until it is impossible for her to remain still. Ellana glances up then, takes in the sight of him, his head thrown back, one hand curled into a fist at his sight, the other buried in strands of her hair that he seems to be holding back from her face, as if he wants to make sure that her sight is not blocked from him.

She draws back, slowly but steadily, and again he seems to want to stop her, although for different reasons now. But he lets her go, his eyes closed, his lips forming inaudible words. Seeing him like that, he is beautiful. Not a god, not a general of armies. Just a man. And one she will see falling apart beneath her hands.

Ellana gets halfway to her feet and puts her hands onto Solas’ shoulders, pushing softly until he lets himself fall onto the bed, not at all fighting her this time. His gaze settles heavily on her, not quite glazed over, but not as sharp as she has come to know it either. It is expectant, beckoning, and she is not about to let him wait.

Her fingers swiftly unbuckle her trousers and she steps out of them, although she keeps her tunic on, in sudden need of a shield between them, even as she aligns her body with his. Solas puts out his arms as if to catch her, but she evades them, propping herself up on her elbow at his side, close enough that she can feel his skin’s warmth without actually touching him.

They stay like that for an endless moment, next to each other, but Ellana does not want to think about how they ended up like this, so she simply waits for her breathing to calm a bit, before she climbs on top of Solas, her legs on either side of his body. His erection sits proudly between them, but she does not pay it any mind for now, despite his whimper as she runs her fingers up the sides of his body. His right hand shoots up, but she catches it with her left, and they bury his mark beneath their intertwining fingers.

Leaning forward, she pushes until his arm comes to rest next to his head. She never lets go of him while her other hand trails over his chest and farther until she cups his face and traces his cheekbone with her thumb. It is an unprecedented sight for both of them, having Solas lie beneath her, but he does not seem to mind it, judging on how intense his gaze is, taking in every inch of her as if trying to commit it to permanent memory to bide him over for the millennia to come.

She scoots forward until his erection rests against her stomach and his hips twitch. Ellana smiles at his impatience, but the throbbing of her core prompts her into motion. Slowly, she lifts her body. Solas’ free hand comes to rest on her waist, and he frowns as he meets the cloth of her tunic and not skin, but the expression fades quickly once the head of his cock presses against her lower folds.

Ellana wants to stop there, tease him further, drag out the moment, but the burning heat in her swollen lower lips becomes almost painful and so she lowers herself onto him. Their breathing catches almost in unison as her walls give way for him, taking in his length completely. She thinks it is dangerous, how whole he makes her feel, buried inside her, how natural their bodies fit. Judging on the look of wonder on his face, he might just think the same.

Ellana contemplates kissing him just then, to see whether he still tastes the same or whether the absence of millennia old lies between them has changed the allure of his lips. But she dismisses the idea almost immediately. It is too intimate, in away. More so than the heated meeting of their bodies. It was a kiss that started it all. And a kiss is all they have ever shared in the waking world. In terms of physical affection, at least. It would not do to revisit that, however. Not now, when she is effectively bidding him goodbye.

She traces his jaw as she slips her hand down, leaving lines on his slightly sweaty skin until she lets her palm rest against his chest, right above his heart. His pulse if fast but strong. Due to sudden inspiration, she rolls her hips experimentally and then almost smiles when his heart seems to skip a beat in response. Although it might have just been the shudder running through him, the sound rising up in his throat.

His hips jerk and the movement buries him even farther inside her, filling her until she feels ready to burst. Taking this as an incentive, she rises back up, slow enough to taste the agony of his sudden loss, then pushes down again, adjusting her position to a slightly better angle.  Her self-restraint lasts only moments before she picks up her pace, riding him until their breathing hitches and breaks erratically.

The climax comes to her first, surprising her with the impact of it. Even with holding herself up against him, she might have collapsed had Solas’ hand not still been on her waist. But even his hold wavers when her inner walls clench uncontrollably around him, pushing him over the edge too.

Her name is on his lips as he comes undone beneath her. She could have loved that, could have loved the expression on his face. And she has loved it before, once upon a long-forsaken romance. They are beyond love now, but regret has never tasted sweeter than this.

Solas lies still once their orgasm have passed, leaving them feeling strangely complete but exhausted. Their hands are still entwined and clasped with some strength, but the air on their bodies feels cold already. Their moment of unity is rapidly fading and Ellana knows better than to fight this.

Impulsively, she leans down and presses her lips against his forehead. It is only a small peck, nothing compared to the passion shared before, but it is a concession to what they had before. Or what they might have had.

Solas opens his mouth as she sits back up but she does not want to hear whatever he has to say, does not want to give him the chance to ruin this. So, she quickly rises off his body, focusing on the feeling of him sliding out of her and the sweet ache of her insides.

Freeing her hand from his proves to be difficult as he refuses to let go so easily, but she has learned a thing or two about how words can be weapons too. “Are you satisfied?” Ellana asks, sounding detached enough to rouse him from his bliss-induced distraction. While he flinches away from her tone, she pulls her fingers from his grasp and climbs off him.

He reaches out belatedly, too slow to catch her as she moves away purposefully. While she straightens her tunic, running over the creases his hold has left in the fabric, she spares a glance at him. Confusion is etched into his forehead, as his eyes follow her movements.

The sight makes her want to smirk, to bath in the glorious fact that she has, for once, caught him unaware. But she cannot. All she feels is a bone-deep tiredness, now that it is over. Because despite his betrayal, despite his unwavering plans, she has never doubted that the failure of this love between them is hurting them both. It should not end this way but, looking back, it never should have begun in the first place.

“Fen’Harel.” She nods, as if he is nothing more than a passing acquaintance. As if her insides are not still throbbing from the reluctantly fading feeling of him inside her.

“Wait,” he calls, still breathless. Vulnerability clouds his voice. So much of it that it is almost impossible to believe that it belongs to a god. Almost, because she has seen more of his masks than most other people.

“What for?” Ellana asks as she pulls her trousers back on, despite this being a dream. But she needs the familiar motions to calm her sudden nerves.

Something churns inside her stomach and she easily recognizes it as the hysterical laughter she has been waiting for all night. It simmers and explodes inside her, clawing its way up her throat. She knows she has to leave before it reaches her lips, because there will, without a doubt, tears accompanying it.

It is ridiculous, really. This meeting was supposed to be bring her closure, to reaffirm her sense of self-worth, to prove that he has not beaten her completely. Instead, she thinks, she might have just aided him to do just that.

“You’ve gotten what you came here for, haven’t you?” She pushes on nonetheless. The words hurt her as much as they hurt him, but seeing his expression crumble brings its own sort of satisfaction, allowing her to keep up the act. He never needs to know how close she has come to faltering.

“Vhenan, I don’t –” he begins, stumbling over the words. “This is not –”

Ellana’s determination, however, strengthens at the sound of the once so sweet moniker on his tongue. It makes leaving that much easier.

“Goodbye, Solas,” she says and wills herself to wake up.

While the Fade around her dissolves, he reaches out as if to hold her back, but it takes no effort at all to evade him. The sight of him, however, will be forever stitched into her memories. No wolf’s pelt guarding him, no eyes glowing with godly power, no impassive face to mask his regrets. Just him, lying on crumpled sheets, traces of their passion still adorning his skin and hands stretched out pleading her to stay.

She still feels his gaze on her as she wakes up, feels his touch and, most of all, his absence. Their parting is a necessity and as much a relief as she feels deeply wounded by it. Lying back into her cushions, Ellana closes her eyes and then allows the bitter laughter to take hold of her. Afterwards, she weeps. 

**Author's Note:**

> I did it again, and I'm not even ashamed of it. Have a good weekend, everyone.  
> I'd be eternally grateful if you left review.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
